Sigh. I’ll never make it as a big time travel writer with this fear of flying. Oh, that’s f*cking fine. All I want to be is a small-time travel writer anyway. A big-time novelist, small-time travel writer. Scratch that. Even small-time novelist would be fine. Wait – I am a small time novelist! And a small-time travel writer! Not to mention a (very) small-time rock star!
Wow – I’ve already achieved all my life goals. Yaaaay me!
Guess I can fly into that *%@#) thunderstorm at peace with myself. And, if I manage to survive that, speed up the mountain in a lift without a safety bar.
Meanwhile, my legacy will be my nephew, who demand that you read him “boo” after “boo” and will be a rockin’ piano player once he is tall enough to actually reach the thing.
Xo
Rebecca
